The Autobot Integration Into America
by AnonFirefly
Summary: A collection of one-shots based around our favorite mechs and their adjustment to life in America, Earth. Ch. 10: Sector Seven is never out of control.
1. Meeting the President

**AN**: Hello! Welcome to my collection of one-shot Movieverse stories, most of which are from the Transformers Random Pairing generator! So… a collection of one-shots I say? What makes this any different from any other collection? How about the fact that the president meets the bots!? Simmons meets the Twins!? Ironhide still loves shooting Cons!? Scorponok's dug his way through Earth's crust to reach Nevada!? Whatever your fancy, as long as the generator can think it, it can be done!

**And the real author's note**: The first seven chapters were written a year ago when I was first introduced to Transformers. If you see a decline in quality in my writing from my other stories, then that is the reason why. Also, all the one-shots happen in the same storyline even if they aren't in chronological order. If I missed anything, I will (eventually) remember and tell you as soon as I can via these handy Author's Notes. Enjoy the stories!

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**Meeting the President**

The president walked out of his private jet that landed in an abandoned airstrip in the middle of the Nevada Desert. Standing on the airstrip was the Secretary of Defense, John Keller, waiting to debrief the president on the situation of the alien robots.

"Hello, John," The president greeted.

"Hello, Mr. President," Keller said. He turned toward a government-issued SUV, motioning for the president to go ahead of him. They fell into step beside on another.

"So, Keller," the president said. "What is the situation on the alien robots? Who's in control of them? What species managed to create machines like that?" Keller sighed.

"Mr. President, they were not created by anyone…" Keller whispered.

"What was that?"

"I'll explain in the car."

They reached the SUV and Keller opened the door for the president. They both climbed inside and strapped themselves in. The driver started the car and they headed toward the road.

"So what do you mean by 'they weren't created by anyone'?" The president asked.

"From my experiences, they are not just simple, death machines." Keller looked the president in the eye and said very seriously. "They are alive. They can think on their own, feel emotions and pain in equal amounts, and are not just machines. They are people and deserve every ounce of respect and courtesy we could ever possibly give."

"But they're robots…" The president said uncertainly.

"But they're much more than that," Keller replied. "You will see when we go and meet them. Their leader, I found, is a very patient and wise man–uh, mech."

"We'll see…" The president said. No other words were exchanged between them as the SUV continued down the road into the Nevada desert.

---

They reached an old, abandoned military base that was in desperate need of repairs. It was the only place that Keller could give the Autobots without having to usurp soldiers already living inside. They had said it would do and that they had had to build bases with even less material before; some had been built from scratch and were located in a ditch.

Outside one of the larger airplane hangers were four vehicles: a red and blue flamed semi truck, a GMC Topkick, a Search and Rescue H2 Hummer, and a 2009 Chevy Camaro. What struck the president as odd was the presence of several humans, a few of them teenagers, near, and in some cases _on_, the cars. A brown-haired, slightly lanky teenager in faded jeans and a '_Shockers'_ sweatshirt, was standing near the Camaro. Standing next to him was a very pretty girl with wavy, black hair, and wore a fitted, light blue shirt and a short jean skirt. They were talking to another teenager who sat lazily on the hood of the Camaro. He had blond hair with two black stripes in his hair over his ears. He wore a pair of blue jeans and yellow sweatshirt with black sleeves, a frowning bumblebee with the slogan 'Bee-otch' beneath it on one sleeve, a black front pocket, and two black stripes that went from his right shoulder to his left hip.

A man, probably in his mid-forties, his shoulder leaning on the GMC Topkick with his arms crossed, was looking at nothing in particular. He wore a simple black t-shirt that did nothing to hide his bulging muscles and a pair of dark slacks. His sliver hair was tied back in a ponytail and he had a small beard growing on his face. He wore an expression that said quite clearly, "Don't bother me."

With his back leaning on the Hummer was a brown-haired man, also in his mid-forties, with a small goatee and a pair of glasses. He wore a light brown jacket over a red shirt with a white medical cross over it and a wrench could be seen poking out of a pocket on his jeans. He was looking up and talking to a, HELLO, BLUE-haired man.

The blue-haired man was sitting cross-legged on the roof of the semi's cab, looking down at the brown haired man. He wore a blue jacket with a red flame pattern similar to the truck he was sitting on over a plain white t-shirt and simple blue jeans. He looked about thirty-five years old and his calm and patient expression broadcasted that here was a man who had seen everything in life and knew how to handle it.

When the SUV pulled up several feet from the assembled cars, everyone stopped talking and looked at the car. A door opened and the president walked out, soon followed by Keller. They were both used to the stares of other people as they exited a vehicle, but the driver didn't have that kind of experience. He shuffled his feet as he stood by the car, waiting patiently.

"Hello, Mr. Secretary," The blue-haired man said, still seated on top of the semi. He raised his hand in greeting.

"Hello," The two men by the Hummer and the Topkick said in unison.

"Hi," the brown-haired boy and girl said. The boy on the Camaro just smiled and waved.

Keller walked forward smiling and raising his hand in greeting. "Hello, Sam, Mikaela, I hope you both are doing well!"

"As good as we could be considering who we hang out with!" The girl, Mikaela, laughed.

"Yeah! I'm actually surprised that we're not dead yet." The boy, Sam, laughed. He motioned toward the teenager sitting on the Camaro's hood. "He hasn't squished us yet! All hail Primus!" He through up his hands and pretended to bow to some higher power.

The blond teen pretended to look deeply offended. He scoffed and spun around with his back to Sam, though he had a large grin on his face. "I kid, I kid!" Sam said hastily.

"How are the rest of you? I hope you are enjoying your stay, even though this was the best we could give at the moment." Keller said addressing the three adults and the blond teen.

The teen smiled and shrugged his shoulders as if to say 'Hey, man, there's no trouble!'

"Well," The silver haired man said. "It needs a lot of work and repair, but we've seen worse." His voice was gruff and had the feel of a battle-hardened soldier behind it.

"We are quite comfortable here." The brown haired man said. "Now, if I were allowed to build a _med bay_–" He put a lot of emphasis on the last two words and glared pointedly up at the blue-haired man on the semi, who pretended not to notice, "–things would be perfect."

The silver haired man rolled his eyes, "Yeah, that'll be the day! When you get a med bay, none of us are going to want to be in the same base." The brown-haired man glared at him. "Watch it," The brown-haired man said. "Or you can pay during your next tune-up." The silver-haired man just grunted and turned back to the Topkick.

Keller cleared his throat to get the arguing men's attention. They turned to him. "Now that I have your attention," He motioned respectfully to the president behind him, who had been patient when Keller had talked. "I would like to introduce the President of the United States of America."

The president walked forward. "Hello," He said politely. "It is a pleasure to meet you." He held out his hand. The brown-haired boy, Sam, walked forward and shook his hand.

"Hi, Mr. President!" He said. "Nice to meet you, I'm Sam Witwicky and this is my girlfriend, Mikaela Banes." He indicated the girl next to him. "Hello," she said. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine." He said, bowing slightly to her. "How did two teenagers, such as yourselves, get caught up in all of this trouble? Surely you shouldn't be hanging out with alien robots?" Sam just smiled.

"By human law," Sam said, smiling mischievously. "I _own_ one of those alien robots. I bought him for four-thousand dollars at a discount dealership." Mikaela smiled and punched him lightly in the arm. "Shut up, you," She said smiling. "You didn't even know who he was when you bought him." Sam smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head.

"So," The president said. "Who are your friends and where are the alien robots?" He looked around as though he was going to spot one of the alien robots he had heard so much about.

"The aliens are right here." Keller said. He motioned to the assembled cars and the people situated next to them.

"Tell me you're kidding, Keller." The president said his hands on his hips. "I thought that the robots were giant-sized."

"Oh, you'll see…" Keller said with a small mischievous grin. The president turned back to the assembled people. He decided to play along, for now.

"Which one of you is the alien leader?" The president asked.

"I am." The blue-haired man said._ That was almost too obvious._ The president thought. The blue-haired man jumped off of the semi and landed lightly on the ground. He walked to the president. The president noticed that the blue-haired man had oddly glowing bright blue eyes. No human had eyes like that and if they did, they weren't natural.

"Pleased to meet you," The president said. He raised his hand and the blue-haired man shook it.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. President," The blue-haired man said. They stopped shaking hands and the president looked over the leader of the alien machines. "What is your name?" He asked. The blue-haired man smiled.

"I am Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots." He introduced himself. The other three aliens had walked to stand behind their leader. The president could tell that they were all aliens because their eyes were all glowing similar shades of blue. "These are my men," He said.

The silver haired man stepped forward. "My weapons specialist: Ironhide." Optimus Prime said. Ironhide nodded his head slightly and stepped back, not saying anything.

The brown haired man stepped forward. "Our Chief Medical Officer: Ratchet."

"Hello Mr. President," Ratchet said. "You appear to be in optimal health. My scans show no problems or glitches in your various biological systems." The president decided not to comment on that statement. Ratchet stepped back.

The blond teen stepped forward. "Our best scout, spy, and saboteur-in-training: Bumblebee."

The teenager threw his hands up in the air and 'said,'_ "Check on the rep, yep, second to none!"_ The radio song lyric excerpt was slightly garbled and had static in the background. The president jumped slightly.

"What happened to your voice?" He asked concerned. Bumblebee shrugged and pointed to Ratchet, who sighed and started to explain. "Bumblebee's vocal processor was damaged in battle a long time ago. It was nearly shattered beyond repair, but Bumblebee found other ways to communicate with us, namely using different sound bites in his CPU to convey different meanings. When we landed here, he started using your radio waves to transmit more complex meanings since we arrived. His vocal processor has been partially repaired, though, thanks to his internal repair system and the Allspark's power. Now while it repairs fully, Bumblebee will still be using the radio, however he could use his voice if he wants to." Bumblebee nodded vigorously in agreement and stepped back in the line behind his leader.

"Well," the president said smiling. "It is nice to meet all of you." Keller smiled and clapped his hands together.

"Now that all introductions are out of the way, Mr. President, would you like to go inside the human areas? We can talk to all of the Autobots inside." They both walked into the hanger, Sam and Mikeala, who had watched the introductions quietly and patiently, followed suit.  
The president didn't notice the cars move by themselves into the hanger and park themselves comfortably in the back.


	2. Simmons, Twins Twins, Simmons

**Simmons, Twins. Twins, Simmons. Don't kill each other.**

Simmons looked the two human holograms up and down. "So," He said coolly. "You're the infamous NBE Twins I've heard so much about." _How can robots be twins?_ Simmons thought with a hint of contempt for the alien beings. It was sort of funny to call them twins. They looked nothing alike at first glance. No human would have thought that they were twins, unless they had been told by the other Autobots first.

"That would be us," Sunstreaker said. His hologram was of a tall, thin, twenty year old human. He wore a yellow shirt with the red Autobot insignia in the middle of his chest with blue short sleeves, black arm warmers that covered his arms from his elbow to his wrists and blackish-blue jeans and shoes. But what would attract the most attention was his hair. It was golden-blonde and spiked up in all directions, like he had just been electrocuted.

"Our reputations precede us, Sunshine," Sideswipe said. His hologram was also a tall, thin twenty year old human. His clothes were similar to his brothers, but his shirt was blood red and the Autobot insignia outlined in black on his front, with black sleeves. He also wore black arm warmers like his twin and black and red slacks and tennis shoes. His hair was completely opposite of his twin's. It was jet black and hung limply in his eyes and down on his shoulders.

"Don't call me 'Sunshine'…" Sunstreaker growled in warning. Sideswipe just shrugged and ignored his twin.

"And what the frag is your pit-spawned name, squishy?" Sunstreaker said arrogantly.

"Sunstreaker, mind your manners and watch your language!" Optimus said angrily. He sounded like a father reprimanding a _VERY_ misbehaving son. Sunstreaker gave a nervous grin to Optimus. "Yes, sir!" He said with a small salute. Sideswipe mimicked him.

"Good. At ease," Optimus nearly growled. They both dropped their salutes and Sideswipe stood behind his brother again, one arm snaking under Sunstreaker's left arm to grasp his shoulder and the other following the trail of his other arm. Sideswipe looked like he was draping himself over Sunstreaker like some sort of weird cloak. It looked like the gesture was endearing and grateful, but it was slightly repulsive to Simmons by how close together they were.

"Hello and welcome to Earth, my name is John Keller, the Secretary of Defense." Keller said. He held out his hand to be shaken. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe stared at it. They looked at Optimus, asking silently what they were supposed to do. Optimus sighed. "You're supposed to take his hand and shake it."

"OH!" Sunstreaker and Sideswipe said in unison. Sunstreaker took Keller's hand in his own and shook it all over the place. Keller smiled, laughing quietly, and shook his head.

"You're supposed to shake my hand up and down." Keller said, still smiling.

"Oh," Sunstreaker said. "You humans are weird. How does shaking opposite hands up and down form a greeting?"

"It's just what we do, nothing more." Keller said. He withdrew his hand from Sunstreaker's grip and held out his hand to Sideswipe. They shook hands, Sideswipe doing it right the first time.

"And you two are…?" Keller trailed off.

"I'm," There was a high-pitched whine followed by several beeps and a whirl, "But the closest translation I could find was Sunstreaker." He said pointing a thumb at himself. Sideswipe extracted himself from Sunstreaker and stood up.

"I'm," A low whistle, several shrill beeps, and a small hint of static sounded. "But in Engilsh, it's Sideswipe."

"Nice to meet you, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe," Keller said, nodding to each in turn. "I don't think I'll even attempt to pronounce your Cybertronian names."

"Good idea, a biological vocal processor isn't made for our language. You'll damage them even trying." Sideswipe said. Optimus saw out of the corner of his holographic eyes Bumblebee trying to teach a simplified version of Cybertronian to Sam and Mikela. He chuckled slightly. It would be very interesting to talk to them in his native tongue when they learned enough. But, back to the situation at hand!!

"This is Agent Simmons," Keller said. "One of my military advisors." He gestured to Simmons normally, but there was a slight hardness and coldness in his eyes and tone that said that Keller was still pissed off at Sector Seven, not only for keeping Megatron a secret from the rest of the government, but the capture, and subsequent torture, of Bumblebee. Let's just say that torturing a member of a giant, mechanical, alien race was NOT the best idea if you wanted to keep your race in their good graces.

"Oh, you're Simmons?" Sideswipe said, slightly confused. "I thought you would have looked sleazier from all the data reports we got on you and your partners, Banana-check and Simian!"

"Simmons… Simmons… Where have I heard that name before…?" He tapped thoughtfully on his chin. It clicked. "OH!!" He exclaimed. His face instantly darkened at his realization and his stance and voice took on a defensive tone. "You're the human that ordered Bumblebee's capture weren't you!?!" Sideswipe's eyes widened and he looked from Sunstreaker to Simmons.

"You mean to tell me," Sideswipe nearly shouted. "THAT THIS IS THE HUMAN THAT HURT BEE!?!?!" He turned to face Sunstreaker. "I thought his name was 'Simian!!'"

"It's Simmons!!!" Simmons shouted. "And what's it to you on how I do my job, NBE?"

"Oo, Sunny, I think he just insulted us…" Sideswipe said, his eyes darkening and an evil grin spreading across his face. There was a slight sing-song note to his voice that any Autobot (or Decepticon for that matter) would recognize as a sure sign that nothing good was going to happen to who it was directed at.

_Oh, slag…_ Optimus thought. _This is not good…_ He walked quickly over to Keller and whispered in his ear. "Mr. Keller, I suggest you warn Simmons about how dangerous the twins are. They are not to be messed with and Simmons is in the perfect position to be assaulted by Susntreaker and Sideswipe. Even though I would put them in the brig if they did attack Simmons, I cannot punish them for their revenge of Bumblebee's mistreatment. Also, advise Simmons to avoid them at all costs. They are not called the Twin Terrors for nothing." Keller nodded and stepped toward the human and the two human holograms.

"Simmons, stand down," Keller commanded. "Don't antagonize the newcomers."

"But, sir!" Simmons said.

"No 'buts,'" Keller replied. "Go and see that Ms. Madsen and Mr. Whitmann are comfortable in their new offices." Simmons resigned to his fate.

"Yes, sir…" He said dully. He walked out of the hanger but not before giving the twins a look that said that they weren't through yet. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe both returned the gesture, eager for the showdown that would undoubtedly take place.


	3. Whatever happened to Beagal 2?

**What ever happened to the Beagle 2 Mars Rover?**

"Hey, Maggie, Mr. Secretary," John Keller and Maggie Madsen looked up from their respective work. Glen Whitmann was lazing around with his feet on the table, his chair on two legs, next to his computer, for once looking thoughtful.

"Glen, how many times do I have to tell you," Keller said. "Just call me Keller, not 'Mr. Secretary.' It's bad for the health to be so formal all the time."

"Sorry," Glen said.

"So, what do you want, Glen?" Maggie asked.

"Well," He began. "Did either of you ever wonder what ever happened to the Beagle 2 Mars rover? You know the one that was never found? What do you think happened to it?"

Maggie put her hands on her hips. "What brought this up?" She asked.

"Well, I was running through Wikipedia about the Space Program to see if there was any more information collected about the Autobots by other people, and there was a link to the Beagle 2 Mars rover. The article said that it was never found and that was four years ago." Glen explained. Keller started to chuckle, then burst into full-blown laughter.

"What's so funny?" Glen asked indignantly, as though he thought that Keller was laughing at him.

Keller, still chuckling, said, "Glen, I know _exactly_ what happened to the Beagle 2 Mars rover."

Glen nearly fell out of his chair. "YOU DO!?!" He shouted. Maggie also looked surprised. "Are you serious, Mr. Keller?" She said amazed.

"Oh, yes," Keller said. "It's a funny story, actually. You know how the Beagle 2 was supposed to be headed for Mars?" Glen and Maggie nodded, both sitting backwards on chairs and paying more attention than was normal. "Well, the Beagle did make it to Mars and transmitted thirteen seconds of footage. It was the first piece of evidence of the Transformers I was shown. By Sector Seven, of course…" He fell silent and glared at the tabletop. Glen and Maggie knew what was going on in his mind and waited patiently for Keller to come back. Keller shook his head. "Anyway," he continued. "After the fight in Mission City, when I was talking to Optimus Prime, the thought of the Beagle 2 came to my mind and I asked him if he knew anything about it. He didn't, of course, since he had never set foot or wheel in our solar system until Bumblebee had signaled him two months ago. He went to ask his other men and offered to take me along. I had accepted of course, because I hadn't met the other Autobots, yet. It was a memorable event–"

"Not to interrupt," Glen said. "But how does this tie in with Beagle 2?"

"I'm getting there, Glen I'm getting there." Keller reassured. "It all does tie in with the Beagle 2." Glen remained silent and listened closely.

"As I was saying, Optimus brought me to meet his men and ask about the rover. Most of them had never been to Mars, but Bumblebee had." Keller said. His tone as he told the rest of the story captivated Maggie and Glen. This dude really knew how to tell a story.

"He told me how he had arrived on Mars several hours before Beagle 2 had landed. As he was scouting the area he encountered a meteor fall to the Martian surface. He went over to find out was it was and to his surprise, a small robot came out of the 'meteor.' One guess what that meteor was." Keller said with a gleam in his eye. Glen's eyes widened.

"No way…" He said breathlessly. "_Bumblebee_ found the Beagle 2 rover? But, how come we don't have any evidence of his existence? Wasn't the Beagle's job to take pictures of things? How come there aren't any pictures of Bee? Why wasn't it able to send any pictures back to Earth? Did he pick it up and squish it, or something?" Keller laughed again.

"Actually, that's exactly what happened. He told me that when he saw it, it reminded him of a toy he used to play with when he was a… what did they call a young child in their race again… sparkling? Yeah, that was it: sparkling. Anyway, he walked over to it and picked it up. He accidentally crushed it in his hands because the rover was so fragile compared to him. And thanks to him, we had our first piece of evidence, aside from Megatron frozen in the basement, that the Transformers race existed and that they were coming here."

"Wow…" Maggie said astonished. "Who would have thought…?"

"Exactly," Keller said. He clasped his hands together and said in a semi-no-nonsense voice, "Now let's get back to work! These reports and all the other extraterrestrial paperwork won't do itself, you know!"

"SIR, YES, SIR!!" Maggie and Glen said. Keller turned back to the large stack of papers on his desk and set to work. He was glad he told that story and would eagerly await the day he told it again.


	4. It Wasn't Your Fault

**Bumblebee / Jazz / alone together (no slash)**

Bumblebee sat on the edge of the cliff outside of the Iacon ruins. He had managed to sneak out of the med bay, much to Ratchet's and his horrible temper's displeasure, to find some time to himself, which was harder than it sounded. Hey, let's see _you_ try and outrun the Hatchet when you've had your arm ripped off and your vocal processor destroyed nearly beyond repair! Yeah… not so easy, is it? Yeah, Bumblebee thought so too. But there were a lot of things on his mind at the moment. Like what had happened a lunar-cycle ago.

One full lunar-cycle… One Cybertronian month since the Allspark had been launched into space and Megatron had followed it to who-knew-where. Bumblebee's feet dangled off of the edge of the cliff. He stared up at the stars wondering which one Megatron was on now. Was he on that bright blue one in the west or that red one to the south? He could be on that yellow star to the east or that white star to the north. Well, where ever Megatron was, Bumblebee knew it was no good to hope for a bright future.

He sighed angrily and punched the ground with his newly repaired arm, making a nice sized crater next to him. A light chuckle assaulted Bumblebee's audios like lighting from the heavens.

"Unless you want the Hatchet to weld your aft to a berth in the med bay, I suggest that you don't damage that arm."

Bumblebee turned around and saw his teacher coming toward him. Jazz always walked with a grace that many mechs didn't have. His footsteps were so silent it was thought that he was a ghost. The dim light of the stars glittered off of Jazz's silver armor making him look more and more like a wandering spirit and he blended into the charred grey landscape around him so well, you'd have thought that he wasn't even there. Well, that was to be expected from the Autobot Third-In-Command and Head Saboteur.

He walked over and sat down next to Bumblebee. He sighed and looked out over the canyon at the ruined city of Iacon sat and, inside it, the Autobot Main Base. Jazz turned to Bumblebee. "How are you holding up?" He asked, getting straight to the point.

Bumblebee's head drooped at Jazz's words. How was he supposed to know!?! He had just sent the source of life into deep space and now the universe's greatest threat was after it and would eventually find it. What hope was there!?!

Bumblebee's vocal processor whined shrilly as he tried to say what he wanted to tell his teacher. Jazz covered his audio receptors. "Primus, Bee," He said in a joking manner even though Bumblebee didn't find anything funny. "I should tell Ratchet to let you back on the active duty list. With a screech like that, the Decepticons won't know what hit them!" The saboteur looked back at his student and cut his laugh short at the look on Bumblebee's face.

Jazz had never seen such a glum looking expression on his little brother, nephew, and student before. Bumblebee was always happy and go-lucky; all thanks to the twins and everyone else in the Autobot ranks, except maybe Ratchet, Ironhide, and Prowl. Bumblebee started shaking. _Oh, slag…_ Jazz thought. _Me and my Primus-fragging--!!_

Bumblebee covered his face with hands forcing back the one emotion that threatened to take him over. Jazz wrapped his arms around his student, brother, nephew as Bumblebee broke down entirely. Jazz began to stroke Bumblebee's back. It was an old calming trick that worked on sparklings and younglings. Now Bumblebee was no sparkling and was fast leaving youngling-hood, but it would still work.

They just sat there for a long time. Jazz holding Bumblebee and Bumblebee crying into Jazz's shoulder. Bumblebee calmed down but still had a death grip on Jazz's shoulder. He let go with his right arm and started to scratch the ground behind Jazz's back. Jazz looked over his shoulder at what Bumblebee was doing. Bumblebee's scratches started to have a pattern. He let go of Bumblebee and knelt down to get a closer look at what Bumblebee was doing.

_Jazz can you read this?_

Jazz smiled. "Yes, I can read it, Bee. And I must say, that is a very handy way to communicate, although we won't always have some ground to work with, you know."

_I know. Thank you_.

Jazz was still smiling. "So, I'll ask again: How are you holding up?" Bumblebee paused before he wrote out his answer.

_Jazz… I don't know what to do. I sent our source of life to who the frag—_"Bee," Jazz said with no real conviction in his voice. "Don't curse; and I don't care if it's in writing." _Sorry,_ Bumblebee wrote in a different section of ground. He went back to writing in his original sentence.

_--knows where and Megatron was right behind it. Why do the others say that I'm a hero? A hero would have stopped Megatron outright._ Bumblebee started to shake again, but his hand was steady when he continued. _What are we going to do? The Allspark is gone. Cybertron is practically dead._ Bumblebee paused. Jazz wondered if there was anything else that he needed to say. Bumblebee slowly traced his fingers through the dust. It nearly made Jazz's pump skip a beat.

_What if I spread our war to other worlds? Other races that have nothing to do with what we're fighting for? More casualties? What if I made things worse?_

Jazz put his hand on Bumblebee's shoulder and looked him straight in the optic. "Bee, what's done is done and we can't change that." Bumblebee's bowed his head. Jazz gave him a little shake. "Look Bee, would you have preferred if Megaloser had gotten his hands on the Allspark?" Bumblebee shook his head vigorously. "See?" Jazz said. "I know for a fact that to survive in this universe you either need to be tough, smart, evasive, intelligent, or have another form of defense. Look at Red Alert! He has a glitch and he's still around. True sometimes having a glitch is not a good thing, but in this case, insanity is keeping us alive."

Bumblebee nodded, though Jazz could tell he didn't really understand. He sighed.

"Bumblebee, listen. To survive, there has to be a quality in you that makes you different from everybody else. There are even organics in this universe that are thriving because they have a quality about them that the universe and Primus want around. So don't worry about it until the time comes. I'm sure that whatever species Megatron comes in contact with will be able to survive on they're own and hopefully kick his aft while they're at it."

Bumblebee smiled and wrote _Thank you_, in the ground again. Jazz smiled, stood up, clasping his claws together. "Now that that's settled, you feel better?" Bumblebee nodded. "Good, now let's get back to base or the Hatchet with have both our afts hanging in the Med Bay as trophies." Bumblebee stood up and followed his teacher back to base.


	5. Cages, Ambitions, and Poker

**Reggie Simmons / Barricade / ambition**

"Let me go, you STUPID INSECT!!"

Simmons sighed. What malevolent higher power put him in this situation? He was a certified, trained Sector Seven agent, whose family had been in that organization since its instigation over eighty years ago, and here he was _baby-sitting_ a member of an alien race he had swore to take down. Gees… his life certainly had taken a turn for the worse. The NBE he was supposed to be 'guarding' wasn't in the best of moods, either. He never shut up! Always screaming about how his race was superior or some other piece of crap.

"INSECT, LET ME OUT OF HERE OR I WILL MAKE YOU!!!" Barricade screamed at him. Simmons sighed again and turned to face the giant alien robot.

"Look, you walking scrap heap," He said coolly. "If you could make me do anything in your current position, then you wouldn't need me to help you out. Besides, we've studied your anatomy and a lot of things about your faction. You are not getting out of here even if you tried." Simmons waited for a split second before Barricade exploded in rage.

"**YOU PIT-FRAGGING, GLITCHING, SON OF A MALFUNCTIONING MOTHERBOARD!!!!! YOU THINK YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO INSULT ME!?! I AM A DECEPTION WARRIOR AND HUNTER!!! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO TREAT YOUR SPECIES' SUPERIOR IN THIS DEGRADING MANNER!!!**" Barricade screamed in his native tongue.

Simmons wasn't fazed by the loud barrage of clicks, whirls, static and other sounds he couldn't name. He could tell by the tone and the body language of the robot in front of him that every word was supposed to be insulting. To bad that he couldn't understand what was being said… for the robot, of course.

"Hey, NBE, let me put this in terms I think you will understand," Simmons said bowing slightly and mocking Barricade. Since he couldn't take the NBE down, why not insult him? After all, Barricade was insulting him and his species.

"**MY DESIGNATION IS BARRICADE, YOU SQUISHY FLESH CREATURE!!!**" Barricade screamed.

Simmons grinned evilly. He straightened his back and held out both of his hands to his left, like he was directing someone. "Like I said, let me put this in terms you'll understand," He adopted an accent like he was talking to someone who didn't speak his language and was slow. "You no get out and me no _comprendo _yo lan-gu-age, ene-b-e (NBE)!" Simmons dropped his fake accent, "Did you get all of that or do I have to talk slower?"

To say that Barricade was livid was a complete understatement. Had he had access to his weapons systems, Simmons would have been a smoking pile of ash when Barricade was done with him. Or maybe he'd prolong the death of the human, whatever suited his fancy.

"Listen, tin can," Simmons said. He was also getting pissed off and he wanted something set straight. "You can gripe and complain all you want, but it's my job to make sure that you don't get free. And if I had my way, none of you NBEs would be walking around without surveillance and I'll make sure that you never get the chance to overrun our planet." Barricade stopped, an odd sense of familiarity of this situation coming on. Not the situation of course, but what that pit-spawned squishy human had said. Didn't the humans have a term for it? What was it again…? Déjà vu? Yeah, that was it. Where had he heard those lines before? Only worded a little differently? It clicked,

Oh, yeah… Megatron, when Barricade had first joined the Decepticons. It had been Megatron's ambition to put the entire Transformers race under his sole rule, helped of course by the power of the Allspark. Barricade remembered how he had been entranced by those words. If everyone was equal, there would be no need for any strife and all the rundown cities like Kaon would be repaired and turned from the pit of robot-trafficking and other unmentionable horrors to cities that would prosper like Iacon and Tyger Pax.

"OI!! TIN CAN!!! I'M-A TALKING TO YOU!!!!" Barricade was pulled out of his thoughts by Simmons irate, false-Italian voice. Barricade swore that human was going to die a horribly slow and very painful death. Now all Barricade needed to do was to find a way to do that. Those damn humans we so fragile it wasn't even funny anymore.

"Are you listening to me, NBE?" Simmons yelled again. Barricade turned around in his cage and tried to find a comfortable position with his back to Simmons, which was harder that it sounded.

"No," Barricade said in English. He stretched some of his stiff hydraulics and joints to get the energon rushing through them again. He laid himself down on the floor of the cage and got in a comfortable position on his back. "I'm going to recharge." He said to Simmons. "Go and do whatever it is you squishies do when your prisoners are recharging." He then shut off his audio receptors as an explosion of sound from Simmons came a split-second later.

Barricade offlined his optics and let his thoughts run through his processor. Megatron's speeches on Cybertron came back to him and what had happened since the war started. He groaned inwardly. He was getting soft and sentimental if he was reminiscing about times before the war.

Simmons saw the giant alien robot lie on the floor of his cage like he was going to sleep. He let out a sigh. Now he didn't have to listen to that stupid robot's tirades anymore. He thought it was odd that the robot would go silent after his little speech about his purpose in life.

He walked to a pile of crates and sat on one pulling out a pack of playing cards that Secretary Keller had given him. He started to play Solitaire and as he put a three of hearts on a four of spades, an odd thought occurred to him. _I wonder if the NBE knows how to play poker…_


	6. Excuse Me, Where Did You Get The Chain?

**Ratchet / Scorponok / chained**

"Slag it," Ratchet cursed.

How in the world did he get himself into this mess? One minute he's patrolling the desert outside of Tranquility, and the next, he's being attacked and subdued by Scorponok. How the stupid bug had gotten from Qatar to the United States was a mystery to Ratchet. He was supposed to have been heavily damaged and have half of his slaggin' tail missing!!!

Primus must really have hated Ratchet that day.

And he must have also hated Scorponok, or at least wanted to make it worse for Ratchet.

Scorponok silently cursed his lack of thumbs.

They were both chained together and neither could move much. Scorponok had crawled all over Ratchet to tie him up and, in the process, managed to tie himself up as well. How did that happen? Ratchet couldn't remember and neither, apparently, did Scorponok.

"Slag it," Ratchet cursed again. During the struggle, Scorponok had managed to knock his rescue beacon offline, so he couldn't radio the other Autobots for help. Ratchet probably wouldn't have radioed them for help, anyway. It was a bit of an embarrassing situation… Okay, it was MORE than a bit of an embarrassing situation!! It was down right humiliating. Ironhide and Bumblebee would never shut up about it if they found out!! But he needed help and the only other being in the immediate area that could help was tied up with him and that being didn't even have thumbs!! Scorponok was struggling against the Cybertronium and steel chains, not that it was doing any good.

"**Autobot,**" Scorponok said in Cybertronian, still struggling. Apparently he didn't want to speak English or, Ratchet thought, perhaps he couldn't. "**Find way to free Scorponok!**"

"**Find a way to free yourself, you Decepticon bug! I am NOT helping you with this!**" Ratchet retorted in his native tongue. If Scorponok didn't want to speak English or any other Earth language it was fine by him.

Scorponok clicked angrily. "**Autobot stuck like Scorponok. Autobot no go anywhere!**"

Ratchet gave an aggravated sigh. He ran over all the possible scenarios in his head and could only find one solution. _Slag it all to the pit…_ Ratchet thought.

"**Okay, bug, I realize we're both in an undesired predicament. I propose a… truce, until we are out of this mess.**" He really didn't want to work with a Decepticon symbiotic parasite, but when you're in a mess like this, you sort of need all the help you can get. Scorponok, apparently, didn't think along the same algorithms.

"**Scorponok no work with Autobot scum! Scorponok Decepticon and proud one, too!**" He shouted. Ratchet groaned. One of these days, he promised himself, he would squish that bug. _One of these days…_ But that day would have to wait.

"**Look, you pit-fragger, for now, think of me as a Decepticon in this situation. Pit, even the other Autobots think I'm a Decepticon in disguise!! It caused quite a fiasco and we even had to subdue on of our own!!**" Ratchet being a Decepticon was a long-running joke in the Autobots ranks. Sadly, it now had to be told outside the hearing range of Red Alert. When Red Alert had heard that Ratchet was probably a Decepticon in disguise, because of his temper and annoyance with his patients, he had practically gone on the fritz. He had run into the med bay to find Optimus having is check-up, had shouted something about sabotage, and started shooting everything in the med bay. Thankfully, every Autobot had heard the commotion and come to the rescue. Everyone had to explain the joke to Red Alert, but he still thought that Ratchet might be a Decepticon. Whenever Red Alert had to be repaired, he had to be off-lined so that Ratchet could work in peace.

"**Why they think Autobot medic Decepticon?**" Scorponok asked. There was genuine curiosity in his voice. Ratchet sighed, and then he got an idea.

"**Scorponok, if you help me get out of this mess, I promise I'll tell you the whole story.**" Ratchet hoped that the Decepticon would be eager to hear the story and agree to the bargain. Besides, what did he have to lose? It's not like the Decepticons could use the information on why he was called the Hatchet.

"**Fine, Scorponok help Autobot, but get story right after. Scorponok hold you to promise.**" Scorponok said. "**What Scorponok do?**" Ratchet smiled internally. At least he finally had help and he didn't have to give anything for it. Primus was probably either throwing a fit, or had a wide grin on his face that his race was finally working together. Ratchet sincerely hoped it was the latter for his sake. But, back to the situation at hand!!

"**Okay, Scorponok, I need you to maneuver your tail into the chain links on my left arm, four rows up from the ground.**" Ratchet instructed. If Ratchet's memory files were accurate, then that chain link was that second to last one to be wrapped around before they couldn't move. Scorponok moved his tail into the link.

"**Okay, now pull!**" Ratchet said. Scorponok tugged and he felt a chain cluster around his right hip twitch in the direction of the moved chain. "**Yes!**"

"**What 'Yes' for, Autobot?**" Scorponok asked indignantly. "**We still stuck!**"

"**But we now know where the end of the chain is located! It's near my right hip. Try using your tail to dig through the small knot of chains there.**" Ratchet explained. Scorponok dug his tail in the knot and started to fiddle around in it.

"**Pull on that chain there… NO THAT one… a little more to the right… now try to loop that one through that loop right next to me… OW!! Watch where you're sticking that tail of yours!!**"

"**Sorry,**"

"**Just be careful!**"

Ten minutes of frantic knot untying and the chains were loosening. Ratchet could move his arms now and Scorponok was finally able to maneuver himself away from the Autobot's chassis. Five minutes of wriggling later, the chains were a heap of harmless links on the ground. Ratchet stood up and dusted himself off while Scorponok shook himself like a dog getting water off.

"**Thank you for your help, Scorponok.**" Ratchet said. He turned toward a rock formation and sat down on its flat surface. "**Now did you want to hear why the Autobots say I'm a Decepticon or not?**" Scorponok turned widened optics to Ratchet.

"**Autobot serious when promise was made?**" He asked in surprise.

"**Of course,**" Ratchet said. "**I'm an Autobot and a medic; I have no choice but to keep my promises. And besides, you deserve the story.**" Scorponok crawled toward Ratchet's feet and curled up like a cat, making himself comfortable.

"**Start story, Autobot,**" he said. "**Please,**" he added as an afterthought.

Ratchet moved to a more comfortable position and said. "**Before we start, you have to promise that what just happened between you and me never occurred. It would be a good idea for you to return to Qatar so that the humans don't slag you and dump you in the Laurencin Abyss.**"

"**Scorponok return to desert. Scorponok promise.**" Scorponok said. "**Start story,**"

"**Okay, it all started when the Autobots had first gathered together under Optimus Prime. I was a newly licensed medic at the time, but my nickname as the Hatchet had already been established…**" Ratchet continued with his story, still holding Scorponok's rapt attention.

Neither of them noticed three Cybertronians and several humans hidden behind some rock formations nearby. Optimus Prime translated what was being said between the two robots to the humans, and Bumblebee and Ironhide would have the time of their lives teasing the Hatchet when they all got back to base.


	7. Guardians Don't Have To Be Big

**Ron Witwicky / Nokiacon / bad touch**

"So let me get this straight," Ron Witwicky said. "My son has been involved in an alien war, the terrorist attack on Mission City was a skirmish between aliens, the government kept the bad alien leader frozen inside Hoover Dam, my grandfather found him in the Artic Circle and made one of the greatest discoveries in the history of mankind, but was still labeled as clinically insane, and now the bad aliens are going to come back to try and eliminate us."

"That about sums it up, Mr. Witwicky."

"No, it doesn't." Ron said, glaring. "I forgot the part about how I'm currently talking to one of those alien robots that I BOUGHT FOR FOUR THOUSAND DOLLARS!!!"

"Oh, yeah-ah, I-I-I almost-ost for-forgot about-t-t th-a-a-at."

"'Almost forgot,' it says._ Almost_…" Ron grumbled.

Ron Witwicky and his wife, Judy, were sitting on a crate in Hoover Dam talking to the Autobots who had been given the task of giving the "alien debriefing," as it was being called by most of the soldiers. Ron was not happy that he was talking with the apparently beat-up, old 1976 Chevy Camaro that had somehow turned into a bran-spanking new, not-even-out-on-the-market-yet, 2009 Chevy Camaro.

"So what happens to us now?" Judy asked. She had been scratching at a spot on her left arm out of nerves and now the area was red raw. Several drops of blood trickled down her arm, but she didn't appear to notice or care.

"Mrs. Witwicky," The neon-yellowish-green Search and Rescue Hummer– Ratchet, wasn't it? – said. "Please refrain from injuring yourself further." He pulled a cloth out of a sub-space pocket and was about to clean Judy Witwicky's arm, when she gasped and pulled away. Ratchet stopped moving. "Mrs. Witwicky, I promise I won't hurt you. Your self-inflicted injury could become infected. Please let me take care of it." Judy was still scared, Ratchet could tell because his scanners still detected her heightened heart rate and adrenaline, but she held out her arm for Ratchet to inspect. She hissed in pain when Ratchet applied the antiseptic, but Ratchet made sure she was comfortable before continuing. Judy was surprised that a giant, alien robot could be so gentle and before long her arm was in a bandage.

"T-thanks," she stammered.

"It was nothing, Mrs. Witwicky." Ratchet replied in a warm voice. "But my scans also show that you are under a lot of stress. Why don't you go and have something to calm yourself with? I know that a quiet room and a warm drink help relax humans." He stretched out his hand and asked. "Will you please come with me?" She hesitatingly took his large hand and allowed him to lead her away. Ron watched her go with slight apprehension. He calmed when he saw several human soldiers follow them out.

"So, that aside," Ron stared to say. "What was this 'guardian' thing I heard from Sam about?"

"It was deemed necessary for your son to have a guardian. The Decepticons would have found your son eventually and would have been defenseless against even the smallest Decepticon." The biggest Autobot said. He was a large red and blue, flamed semi truck. Wasn't he the leader of those giant aliens? What was his name again…? They called him Prime, didn't they?

"So, uh… Prime, wasn't it?" Ron asked.

"Yes, Mr. Witwicky," Prime said. Ron gulped as Prime looked down at him.

"Yeah…" He began nervously. "Sam's 'guardian,'" he pointed to the Camaro. "Is it still necessary for him to be around?"

Prime nodded. "Yes, Starscream could return at any time and you, your wife, and Sam would be the first targets."

"You mean that big jet? And why would we be the first targets? I thought we just had the location for that large cube thingy you were looking for." Ron asked.

"Allspark." Ratchet supplied. (How did he get here so fast?)

Ron pointed at him. "Yeah, that thing!"

"Yes, Mr. Witwicky," Prime answered. "Starscream is the Decepticon Air Commander and the former Second-in-command. With Megatron deactivated, he is now officially the leader of the Decepticons. He has wanted Megatron's position for a very long time now. Since Sam killed Megatron using the Allspark's power-"

"WHOA! Wait one god-damn minute!!" Ron said loudly. "_Sam_, my Sam, our little boy, _destroyed_ the leader of the bad guys!? By himself!?"

Ratchet spoke up. "Well, by all technicalities, Sam used the Allspark to kill Megatron by permanently damaging his spark and influx of energy from the Cube shorted out all of his systems."

"Yeah, but why did you let my son go into_ YOUR active warzone_!?!" He yelled.

All the bots looked at each other and shifted uncomfortably. Ron glared at them all.

"We had no choice in the matter." Prime said finally. "It was both his decision and the decision of your human military that Sam accompany and escort Bumblebee and the Cube. We never intended for him to become part of our war." The other bots nodded in agreement.

Ron narrowed his eyes and glared up at the bots. "You know, I think I might have to have a word with the military when this whole mess is over and done with." They all fell into silence for a moment as none could think of anything to say. Ron tapped his foot against the crate he was sitting on as another question popped up.

"Will my wife and I need guardians as well?" The bots snapped their heads around as Ron spoke again. The black one (what was his name?) spoke up. "You know Prime, he does have a point."

"Agreed." Prime replied. "You cannot be with Bumblebee and Sam constantly. We may have to find another way to keep you safe."

"Well, whatever you plan," Ron said, "I just want my family safe." The bots turned around and began conversing among themselves. Ron just continued to sit on the crate and wait for the bots to finish.

An odd clicking noise interrupted his musing. He turned around the crate and looked over the edge. A little black Nokia cell phone sat innocently behind the crate. Ron slipped off the crate (the bots taking no notice) and bent down over the phone. It looked harmless enough and its screen was open and on. Ron picked up the cell phone gingerly and inspected it.

With a yelp, the Nokia jumped and transformed into a tiny clicking, chattering robot about five inches tall. It plopped back down into his hand and said something in that chattering language of its, shaking its small fists like it was about to begin a boxing match.

Ron just stared at the little robot. "Uh, Autobots?" Ron said, surprised but not scared of the little phone in his hands. "I think I just found another one of you."

The Autobots (who hadn't watched Ron disappear from the crate) looked down at him and the Nokia phone-robot-thing. Prime bent down to get a better look at it.

"Primus…" He whispered as he recognized the symbols decorating the tiny frame. "It's a Cybertronian…" Ron looked at the tiny both in his hands.

"You mean you come in pocket-sized as well?!" He exclaimed. Suddenly the sound of a large cannon powering up reverberated through the large hanger. Ron looked up at the black bot, instinctively covering the small bot.

"It's a Con." He growled in a heavy, deep voice. "Put it down so I can shoot it." Ron didn't move, the heat from the massive cannons even reaching him.

"IRONHIDE!!" Both Ratchet and Prime yelled, pulling the black mech away from the human and the Nokia. Bumblebee bent down, ignoring the other bots and held out his hand to Ron.

"I-I need to see th-that phone, Mr. Wit-Witwicky." Ron just held the clicking mech closer, still wondering about the bots.

"Don't-on't worry, Mr. Witwicky." The yellow mech said. "I ju-just need to s-scan him for any ann-annomil-ies." Ron slowly held out the small robot for Bumblebee's inspection.

The Nokia squeaked angrily and jumped from Ron's hands to land on his shoulder and scrambled around to and onto his head. The Nokia chattered and clicked loudly and a miniscule missile launcher and machine gun appeared on its form.

Bumblebee watched apprehensively as the little bot chattered away. He slowly back away and the little bot put its weapons away, though it still chattered in a menacing way. Ron reached up to his head and the Nokia jumped into his hands, this time chirping happily.

"You know," Ron said, looking up at the large yellow Camaro, "I think I like this little guy. He's kind of cute." At the word 'cute' the Nokia squeaked indignantly and starting chattering in a small fit of rage. Ron ignored that part. "I'll keep him."

"Mr. Witwicky, are you s-sure that's a good i-idea?" Bumblebee said.

"You guys did say I needed a guardian, what's wrong with this little guy? He's obviously tough and brave to stand up to you." At that, the Nokia puffed up with pride, the expression on his little face one of shrewd cunning.

Bumblebee considered for a moment then said, "Well, I-I guess there's n-no harm. He's your guard-di-ian."

"Good!" Ron said happily. "Now I just need a name for the little guy. How about Nokia-"

"I'M TELLING YOU IT'S A **CON**!!!" the black bot yelled from the other side of the hanger. Ron stared at the wrestling robots.

"Okay… Nokiacon it is then." He said and Bumblebee shook his head at the antics of his fellow teammates.


	8. Students and Teachers

**AN**: This is pre-war. Also I recommend reading this while listening to the 'Scorponok Theme' on the Transformers Movie Soundtrack. I was listening to it as I wrote it and somehow, it seemed to fit. X)

As to the various prompts, they will now be at the bottom of the page. If you want to skip ahead and see what the pairing is, I won't stop you, but it would be better to read it first, and then see the prompt. Thank you.

---

**Students and Teachers**

Ironhide stood on the edge of a large pit, his arms crossed and his back structure stiff. It was the final test, the last test before his students could graduate and officially call themselves warriors. He watched them all jump, glide, and smash their way through the various obstacles while at the same time, protecting a drone. It simulated a real assault situation when a bodyguard would have to protect his charge.

The majority of his students did excellent jobs at getting through the traps while protecting their respective charges. Ironhide watched his current batch's most promising student fall for a trap and got himself and his charge cornered.

_Kid, that was too obvious. You should have realized it was a trap._ Ironhide thought disappointedly. _And you've been doing so well. Getting cocky gets you killed. That was the first lesson I drilled into you greenhorns._ Ironhide was about to turn away to watch his other students, but Ironhide caught a glimpse of his student's face and stopped.

His best student, caught in a corner, charge about to be taken, himself to be shot, _smiled._

And it was no ordinary smile. It was the kind of smile that said, "You think you have me? Think again!"

Ironhide watched as his student hugged his charge close to his chest and rained plasma blasts from his gun at all of the hostile drones, mowing them down in seconds. Ironhide cocked an optic ridge. _So getting backed into a corner was your plan?_ He smiled as his student continued to destroy the drones. He managed to defeat them and stood there with his charge still safe. The student grinned in triumph.

_But don't get comfortable._ Ironhide thought, a semi-sadistic grin spreading across his features._ The worst is yet to come._

As though waiting for Ironhide to think that, the ground under his student's feet shifted and broke apart revealing Beta Class attack drones, more powerful turrets, and several Snatchers took to the skies.

To his student's credit, the mech in the pit didn't flinch or show any sign of surprise. Rather his face was marred by an annoyed frown. The student's optics turned from one drone to the next. Ironhide could see his processor working overtime to find an escape route.

_Come on kid…_ Ironhide urged, completely ignoring the other students for the moment. _Show the two-bit slaggers what you're capable of…_

Ironhide's student suddenly looked straight ahead and Ironhide could see a plan shining in his student's optics. "Come on, kid!!" Ironhide laughed to no one in particular. "I'm waiting to be impressed!!"

As if on cue, his student sprang into action.

He swung his gun toward the skies and shot down the Snatchers as easily as he would flies. He jumped back farther into his corner as the Beta drones swarmed him. Then he did something that would forever change Ironhide's view of bodyguarding.

His student threw his charge high into the air.

_Freeing your hands…_ Ironhide watched in amazement. A wide, manic, proud grin spread across his features. "NOT BAD, KID!! NOT BAD!!" He shouted; glad that no one could hear his favoritism over the roar of the battle below him. "But can you keep it up!?"

He watched as his student pushed himself off the wall and into the nearest Beta Class drone, slicing its neck wires with a blade hidden in his wrist. He took the head and threw it at another drone, who tumbled in front of a turret, shielding him from the blast.

He jumped off the headless drone under him, flipped over the drone behind him and dashed for through gaps and holes in the drone army. He sliced at the drones' legs as he went past, avoiding the turret shots by using the drones as shields. He then spun around on his heel, using his tires to increase his maneuverability and speed and ran straight for a turret. He slid between the legs of the drones and into a small niche between the turrets armor and the ground.

A moment passed then suddenly all the turrets started to short circuit and start firing wildly around him. The out of control turrets slaughtered the drones before shooting themselves, leaving piles of wrecks behind him. Ironhide's student then came shooting out of the small niche where he had taken refuge then shot forward towards the finish line.

Ironhide watched him as he continued running and instead of fighting, dodging every enemy and blast. There was a whistling sound from above and Ironhide looked up to see his student's charge coming back down with remarkable force. He looked back at his student just in time to see him jump onto a turret and then into the air.

He caught his charge, still blessedly unhurt, and landed heavily on another turret, crushing it underneath his massive bulk. He wasted no time in hurrying to the finish line, continually dodging, evading, and avoiding every single enemy that came his way.

"COME ON KID!!" Ironhide yelled, punching the air with his fists. "KEEP GOING!!"

And with a final burst of speed, Ironhide's best student crossed the finish line, the charge unhurt, unscathed, and a little shell-shocked maybe, but otherwise in mint condition. Ironhide's internal stopwatch clicked off.

His student had beaten the odds.

All in the span of half a breem.

_You just won yourself a whole bunch of bonus point, kid._ Ironhide thought with a broad grin. Ironhide transformed and drove to the finish line where his entire class waited for him. Each student was talking about how well each one had done and if they would pass for a scratch or two on their respective charges.

"WELL DONE!!" Ironhide roared as he transformed and came to a crashing halt in front of his class. "Well done!! All of you!! I don't think I have seen a better display since– well, since I went through this test!"

Ironhide commemorated every single one of them on a job well done and pointers on improvement. Though in Ironhide's expert opinion, not many of them needed his advice. Least of all his best one.

His best student waited until all his classmates were gone before approaching Ironhide. Ironhide turned to him. "And you," he said with a broad grin. His student grinned back, happiness and pride radiating off his form. "You pass, with flying colors! Or should I say, flying charges?" His student looked sheepish, but no less happy.

"Congratulations, Brawl," Ironhide said, clasping the other mech's shoulder, "you pass with the best grades of the whole class!"

Brawl's face spread into a wider grin, but there was something wrong about it. It looked meaner, nastier, more evil…

"Thanks, teach," Brawl said as his blue optics turned to blood red, "I'll remember that." Ironhide didn't know when Brawl had pulled out his blaster, but it was suddenly pressed against his spark. Ironhide couldn't move, surprise and horror keeping him still.

"Bye, teach," Brawl said.

And pulled the trigger.

---

"NO!!" Ironhide screamed and shot up on his berth. His intakes cycled rapidly to cool his overheated systems. He waited until his systems returned to normal. He placed his head in his hands and breathed deeply.

It had been a long time since he had dreamed about the past, about before the war.

About his favorite student of all time…

Ironhide clenched his fist as he remembered Brawl's choice all those years ago. To leave everything behind and join the insane Decepticons and Megatron. It had hurt more than any injury Ironhide ever received on the battlefield.

Ironhide sat up, determination shining in his optics. _Brawl made his choice._ Ironhide thought bitterly. _And I made mine. To stay with my charge and to uphold my beliefs_. He resolutely lay back on his berth and initiated his recharge cycle, hoping for no more dreams of past prides and hurts.

--- 

**Brawl / Ironhide / beginnings**

**Ending AN**: Thank you for taking the time to read. Drop me a review if you think it's worth your time. (I love reviews and hearing what people think of my stories.)


	9. The Leader's Curse

**AN**: Just some silliness. :3

The Leader's Curse

"Optimus, sir," Prowl said as he placed another stack of datapads on his leader's desk, "here are the reports about the excavations at the Trypticon site."

A groan was the only reply Prowl received from the mountain of datapads in front of him. The stacks were at least two mechs tall and about seven mechs wide. Optimus was somewhere behind those huge stacks, sitting at his desk and moaning about the amount of datawork to do.

Prowl nodded and headed for the door. Over his shoulder, he called, "I'll come back when you've approved the new recruits, reread the reports of unrest in Kaon, finish the treaty with the seekers of Vos, and helped your brother to the Med-Bay." His hand was on the keypad when Optimus's voice floated out of the datastacks.

"What slag has he gotten himself into this time…?"

Prowl replied calmly. "The same slag you're in. Only, his datapads are on top of him instead of in front of him."

"Not again…" Optimus muttered. There was the sound of a chair being pushed back and several choice curses as a few of the accursed datapads were crushed underfoot. Prowl waited for his leader to extract himself from the datapads and hurry over to the door.

Optimus looked rather worse for wear. His paint was dull, his face tired, several scratches covered his frame (how Optimus even got those scratches, Prowl couldn't fathom). It looked like he hadn't rested nor recharged in orns. Prowl raised an optic ridge when Optimus leaned against the wall and his intakes whired heavily.

"I'll have Ratchet save you a berth." Prowl said as he walked out the door, Optimus trailing behind him.

"I am _fine,_ Prowl." Optimus growled. "I don't need to see Ratchet."

"And I'm Primus Incarnate." Prowl said sarcastically. Optimus mumbled something Prowl couldn't hear, but Prowl didn't press the issue. They soon arrived outside one of the larger offices. Optimus leaned against the wall while Prowl typed in the keycode (seeing as Optimus was too tired to do so). Just before he hit the last key, a blue hand encompassed his forearm.

"Thanks, Prowl, but I can take it from here." Optimus said tiredly. Prowl highly doubted that Optimus was even close to being able to take it from there. But knowing how stubborn the mech was, Prowl let it slide.

"Fine. Comm. me if you need help," Prowl said. He turned and headed down the hallway to the Eastern Wing of Iacon's Central Command Building. As he walked back to his office, he quickly opened his comm. link.

_:Ratchet, have the Med-Bay on standby for two incoming mechs…:_

---

Megatron / Optimus Prime / Paperwork


	10. Bound

Bound

So this was it.

The end.

God, of all the ways for a secret government agent, whose purpose was to discover, detain, and decipher alien technologies (including the alien technologies that were _alive_), why- Dear Lord in Heaven, _why_- did he have to die at the hands (excuse me, _claws_) of a piece of _hostile_, living, alien technology whose function was to discover, obtain, and decipher any and all information for its _hostile_, giant, alien masters, Hell-bent on the destruction of his planet and his entire species?

There was a certain piece of cosmic irony in there that Tom did not like one bit.

"_Ooi-ski-tank-driu-takikikikiki-nak-takli-tanok-stoonkan-taonks-anks-alikskiiiiiiiii!_" The spindly, silver robot screeched at him. On reflex, his mind attempted to translate the alien screech into some semblance of language. The jumbled results (a mix between English, Hawaiian, and what he believed was Swedish, though was not entirely sure) made little sense to him, yet he somehow knew, without fully understanding, that whatever the silver robot wanted, it had to do the boy and the Cube.

That, and there was something about his... laser-core? Being torn from his chest.

Not that Tom knew (or particularly cared right now) what a laser-core was or why that word came to his mind.

He remained silent one moment too long. The silver robot shrieked loudly and with surprising strength, grabbed the Sector Seven agent by the front of his shirt, lifted him up, and threw him across the room. Tom slammed into the reenforced steel wall with a loud _SMACK_, and crumpling to the ground in a heap. His spine and head seared in pain from where he had hit them both. If he survived, he would need to see a doctor. And take an _extended_ vacation to a desk job. He attempted to pick himself up, but the chains around him (whatever they were made of) were too strong and too tight around him.

That was another thing he would have to ask God when he met Him. Why did he have to die in _chains_ of all things? Couldn't there have been a more dignified way to go than on his knees, begging futilely for his pathetic life, by a robot!

The robot skittered toward the downed human, its movements unnaturally sharp and far too quick for any organic creature to perform let alone track. One set of its sharp claws planted themselves over his rapidly beating heart and the other directly over his eyes. Those twin icy blue lights (for they could not be called eyes, there was nothing in them that suggested any kind of pupil/scalera/iris that would be required for eyes) glared down at him with deep disgust at touching him.

"_SKI-TANK-DRIU_!" It roared at him in that high pitched voice, claws pressing in closer to his vitals. "_OOI-STOOKAN-MARAKOi_!"

His heart seemed to beat a million times a second. He had to think of something. Anything! To get this creature away. It could probably sense his anxiety, his stress. It could probably even tell who was lying and who was not...A strange calm settled over him, though he still wore a panicked expression. Time to test a certain theory about his character. And whether or not he could fool lie detectors. Internally he grinned maliciously, even has his voice shook. "What- What do you want!"

"CUBE!" The thing shouted angrily, shaking him furiously, claws dangerously close to his eyes and pinpricks of pain in his chest. "BOY!"

Tom ignored the pounding and the quickly forming goose egg on the back of his head and thought furously. Where to sent this thing. _Where to send it._ It had to be somewhere far, on base, but far enough away that Captain Lennox with the Witwicky boy and the Cube could escape before being found. _But where?_

_Think, Tom._ He told himself, as the spiky alien started shouting and slammed him into the wall again. _Do you know this base inside out or don't you?_

It came to him in an instant.

"T-THE OLD ARCHIVES!" He squeeked, his voice cracking expertly. His eyes bulged on demand and he started to hyperventilate. "DON'T KILL ME!" Tom pleaded to the alien being. "THEY WENT TO THE OLD ARCHIVES!" He bit his tongue sharply and tears formed at the corner of his eyes, and his nose ran as he remembered his late wife and couldn't help the anguish he felt at her loss.

The alien thing dropped him fast, curling away from his oozing and whimpering form. It chattered something to the air (probably to its monstrous buddies) then ran (if it could be called running) off down the hallway and out of sight, without so much as a backwards glance at the restrained human.

Tom picked himself up, struggling to get to his feet as the chains around him refused to budge. He awkwardly maneuvered his cellphone out of his pocket and looked at the bright blue screen, timer ticking away, little speaker symbol proudly displayed.

"Did you catch all of that?" He said to the phone.

"I'm already looking for weapons." Simmons replied. Tom heard banging over the connection and his heart sank despite himself. "... Tom." Simmons's annoyed tone floated over the line. "... How long did it take that thing to get here?"

"Record time." Tom said as he sprinted as best he could in the opposite direction. "I'm getting the other agents."

"I think this may be the time to start Operation: Meatlocker." Simmons said. Several more louder bangs came from the phone before the call shut off.

Wasting no time, Tom sprinted and skidded into the main hanger bay, hoping that the other agents would be ready to fight (or better yet, were already fighting).

He looked on in horror at the carnage left by NBE-1.

No.

_Megatron_.

But there was no time to linger and mourn. He punched in a couple numbers from his phone and called in the other agents stationed around and in the surrounding countryside. As much as he hated the name, Operation: Meatlocker was a go. Several other agents were already rerouting supply and information lines. Others were moving packages and still others were keeping the aliens in the dark.

Content that his job was done for now, Agent Tom Banachek flopped down onto the ground and waited for someone to find him and untie him. He would have to think up a cover story for his change of location. Simmons could explain the frenzied robot coming after him and whomever he was with. Information missing could be easily explained and no one would miss the other four robots "frozen in the basement."

Even when things were out of control, Sector Seven was still bound to its duties.

And those chains did not break.

Tom Banachek / Frenzy / chained  
  
**AN:** This chapter is more of a "What happened to Banachek during the first movie?" then somehow spawned into my own personal headcanon. O_o; There was no way Simmons could have moved all that information in the meat-locker all by himself. And Sector Seven would not go quietly. Well, they would, but they'd never really disappear.


End file.
